“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(Perhaps because of the presence of a witness, Jane began dictating in a somewhat louder and deeper voice than usual, and maintained the voice all evening. Her dictation was also faster, though she paced at her usual rate. Her eyes darkened as expected.)

(Jane’s voice now became quite amused; she smiled at John and me as she paced back and forth. Miss Callahan’s name enters the discussion because we were discussing her before the session.)

(Making this pun, Jane’s voice became somewhat stronger and again a little deeper. This was the most voice change she had exhibited in some few sessions.)

(Jane resumed in the same strong and somewhat deeper voice at 10:36.)

(Break at 10:00. Jane was dissociated as usual. She resumed in the same strong and somewhat deeper voice at 10:15.)

I find his subconscious an easy point for entry. He has always been independent, impatient and stubborn. If he were not, I could speak through him in a much clearer voice. Nevertheless I would not enjoy it as well.

(As I began to put myself in a light trance state, suddenly from the living room came a static noise such as our radio often makes. It was loud and unmistakable, with a voice-like sound in it also. I knew very well that I’d turned the radio off, but I was tempted to get up and check, and under ordinary circumstances would have done so. However, I then remembered something that had happened sometime last week when I had also been trying psychological time, that I had forgotten. That time I had also turned the radio off, but then I kept on hearing music from it, in varying volume. I started to get up but remembered the click the switch made when I had turned it off, so, curious, I stayed on the couch and listened. The orchestrated music continued for perhaps three or four minutes before fading away. Later I checked the radio and it was indeed turned off. Today after I got up I checked the radio and it was turned off also.

(I can’t really describe the sound. I seemed to pick it up with my ears like a very loud garbled static; and this voice, a man’s, was distinguishable amid the static, and formed it somehow. The static was like a bubbling in my ears, from within. The sound didn’t come from the room. The voice was definitely independent, another person’s, not my own; nor was the thought my own.

(I was so startled and shocked that I came to instantly. I was shaking with amazement. The voice was very impatient in tone. As I snapped to I was answering it aloud, but cannot remember what I was saying. The sound of the voice was very loud—it scared me as a sudden loud sound will. I had the feeling that I could have asked more and that it would have been answered, but this was right after I came to. I regretted coming to, as the answer I received was the kind that makes you want to ask more questions.

(I have just used the pendulum, asking it if the voice experience was legitimate? The answer was yes. But I didn’t have the heart right now to ask it any more questions.

(I then finished my self-induction. Some time later, it seems, I became aware that I was watching a youngish woman in a polka-dot dress, white dots on black or a dark color, climb up three or four back-porch steps and enter a house, with a screen door closing behind her. She might have been carrying something. At the foot of the steps stood a little girl looking up at her disappearing mother. [I do not know how I felt so sure this was mother and daughter.] The little girl, with brown long hair and some kind of short nondescript dress, stood with her back to me. I then heard her say very clearly, in a high-pitched little girl’s voice: “You got the ball? You got the ball?”

(Then again, later yet, I heard myself asking: “What’s your name, little girl?” This time a voice, it could have been my own, answered from offstage to my right: “I’m Bonnie Lou Ryerson.” “How old are you?” I asked. The same voice answered: “I’m seven years old.” I did not see anything this time. There was more, but I believe that by this time I was coming out of the desired state and was consciously connecting the name Ryerson with a local teacher by that name whom Jane sees occasionally in connection with the art gallery where she works. I do not know him, or whether he has children.